


Disclaimer: Shit Happens

by Disclaimer_Fic



Series: Disclaimer [3]
Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Car Accidents, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Skateboarder Jensen, Tattoo Artist Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disclaimer_Fic/pseuds/Disclaimer_Fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't theirs for very long, but Jared and Jensen are still struggling to deal with Brayden's absence from their home nearly a year after the fact.  When Brayden's dad makes a terrible choice, the guys are forced to deal with the consequences, as well as the crumbling state of their own relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disclaimer: Shit Happens

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my livejournal in October of 2009.

“Rise and shine, Princess.”

Burrowing deeper into the thick blankets surrounding him like a cocoon, Jensen mumbles something unintelligible and then grunts. He barely manages to pry one eye open to notice the over-sized coffee mug Jared is holding over him.

With another groan, he scrubs his hand over his face and fights his way out of his bubble of warmth and happiness. “The fuck are you doin' up so early?” he grunts when looks to the bedside clock. 

To be fair, Jared may have a death wish. He was at a club with his own crew downtown until after midnight, and Jensen didn’t get home from San Diego until after that. By the time they both stumbled into their bedroom and managed to fuck each other stupid, it was well after three. Jared may be standing upright, but his ass damn well remembers the hard, fast, filthy, fan-fucking-tastic sex they had, for sure.

Yet Jared stands beside the bed, fully dressed at seven o’clock in the fucking morning. He wouldn’t, but there are things to be done today. 

Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, Jared thrusts the coffee into Jensen's hand and leans forward to press his lips against Jensen’s head. “Anybody ever tell you that you're too damn fuckable for your own good first thing in the morning?” he asks with a grin he hopes says he’d very much like to follow that question up with a demonstration.

“Man, get off me.”

Jensen shoves Jared back with his free hand. After a longer-than-human gulp of the coffee Jensen says Jared always makes too strong to be healthy for anyone, Jensen says, “Pretty sure I pegged your ass through this mattress and into the floor a few hours ago,” he says, setting his mug on the bedside table. “The fuck you doin' up, and what the hell is it gonna cost me?”

Jared watches as Jensen rolls out of the bed, his toned body on unabashed display in the moments that it takes Jensen to search the floor for his shorts. If there's anything about Jensen's body that isn't absolutely perfect, Jared doesn't know what it is. From the Ultra Violet tips of his hair to the platinum rings in his ears and lip, to the smattering of freckles and tattoos over his lean body, he's pure perfection. Even with the smudged eyeliner he didn’t wash off last night, and the chipped polish on his nails, Jensen is every inch the man Jared loves. Sometimes he forgets just how much.

It's all Jared can do not to burst into laughter as Jensen grumbles and curses his way to the bathroom, moving a little more gingerly than normal. He knows full well it's his own fault. He rode Jensen like a Derby horse earlier this morning, and it’s a wonder they don’t both need a chiropractor after that other position they managed to get themselves into. 

When he returns, eyeliner washed away, Jared grabs Jensen and pulls him down on top of him, letting their momentum carry them back until they’re lying flat. “You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he growls into Jensen's throat, hips rolling into the friction as he scrapes his teeth over the stubble across Jensen’s chin.

“The fuck has gotten into you?” Jensen asks, dipping his face to accept a dirty wet kiss before anchoring himself on the bed, elbows on either side of Jared's head. “You’re actin’ weird,” he adds, this time sucking Jared's bottom lip between his own.

Jared just grabs Jensen's hips and rolls them both until he's hovering over Jensen, eyes glimmering with amusement. “Got some good, nngh,” he grunts when Jensen grabs Jared's ass with both hands and pulls him further into the contact. “News,” he finishes, not even stuttering the rhythm they're grinding against each other.

Jensen just clears his throat, rolls again, and pins Jared's ridiculously long arms at his sides. “So tell me,” he manages over the heavy breathing and grunting they’re each doing as they rut against each other.

In a brief flash, Jared remembers nights on the couch in their old apartment, tangled up like high school kids, making out for the entirety of some epic movie neither of them really cared about that much anyway. It wasn't really even about getting off on those night, or even about foreplay. It was just about feeling and touching and tasting and connecting. 

They don't do that much anymore.

“Show got renewed,” Jared finally springs his big news.

It’s a big deal, but even Jared doesn’t care that much right now. He’s hard as a fucking rock, one layer of denim and the thin nylon of Jensen's basketball shorts away. His fingers are digging possessive bruises into Jensen's hips. It's been too damn long since they talked like this.

It’s not like it's a real conversation or anything, but it's more than they've had in the last eight months, so Jared is going to fucking take it. 

“Awesome,” Jensen manages, but Jared can’t be sure if he means the news, or the way his hand is snaking into Jensen's shorts.

It's not like there's anything wrong between them. They're not _not_ talking or anything. Life just gets in the way sometimes, and they're both busier than they've ever been. 

Jensen recently bought an old surf shop down on the beach in San Diego, so he’s been renovating that to open his second pro shop. Ollie’s sister store, Grind, is set to open next weekend and Jensen’s entire crew has been hauling ass to bring it to life before the deadline. The fact that Jensen, Mike, and his newest designer, Jake, decided to come up with a whole new line for the grand opening hasn’t given them more time together, either. 

For his part, Jared hasn’t exactly had time to mourn the loss of their private time, either. He hasn’t had time to notice that Jensen isn’t around as much since he started filming his own reality show for Bravo. Aptly titled _Slinging Ink_ , the show has been a slow building success, so it was touch-and-go for awhile as to whether or not the suits would actually greenlight a second season of Jared and his crew's crazy in-shop antics. Turns out, a giant gay tattoo artist with a heart of gold is worth taking another chance on, apparently.

The show is the biggest thing that has ever happened, professionally, to Jared. Jensen was so fucking excited when they signed the first season’s deal, he busted out the box under their bed and they didn’t leave the house for three days. The execs wanted Jensen to be a part of the show, too, stressing that it was important to highlight both the professional and personal sides of Jared’s life, as well as the rest of his crew. Proud as Jensen claimed to be, he had no interest in exploiting his personal life for ratings, though.

Jared’s crew creates enough conflict on their own, so it’s fine. Between Genevieve’s revolving door of smoking hot lesbian flings, Sandy’s cleavage, and the new girl, Katie’s sarcasm, there’s enough entertainment value to fuel three shows. Add Chad and Sophia to the mix and there’s more drama than a CW soap.

Jensen is convinced that their relationship wouldn’t survive the stress of being a reality-tv couple, that he likes being with Jared and doesn’t want to tempt fate because some folks at a cable network want to watch them make out on camera. Jared hasn’t pushed it; Jensen has every right to keep his face to himself.

Of course, there's one person who has taken to his new-found reality psuedo-fame like a true champ. Brayden has only appeared in a few episodes, but there's no denying the proud puff of his chest each time one of the scantily-clad girls from the Pier recognizes him. 

Two years ago, when the guys met him for the first time, Brayden was a scrawny, introverted pipsqueak who barely looked up through his shaggy bangs. Some things haven't changed. He's still built like a stick figure and his shoulder-length hair still covers most of his face, but somewhere between thirteen and fourteen, he shot up about twelve inches, and Jared swears he's not done growing yet. 

Never mind that it's damn-near impossible to shut the kid up these days. Jensen says that his charm and enthusiasm over art and music make him Jared's (sort of) Mini-Me. Jared thinks that Brayden’s passion for boarding and asking too many questions make him more like Jensen. They're both well aware that they're not his parents and he probably came by all of those interests and traits honestly, but still, it's kind of hard not to notice how much he's turning out to be just like them.

Two years ago, he wanted to be a tat artist, like Jared. These days, he swears he hasn't given up on it, but he wants to give the pro-skating circuit a shot first. The goal, at least this week, is to start on the amateur scene here in Southern California in the next few months, and then shoot for going pro by the time he's sixteen. With the moves Jensen's been teaching him, and the ease with which he picks them up, there's no doubt in either of their minds that he'll be on the podium at the X-Games in no time.

Of course, the schedules that both guys have been maintaining lately haven't allowed a lot of time for Brayden, but Jensen's already invited him to the Grind grand opening next weekend, and Jared plans on making sure that he has a more substantial role in the second season of his show. They'll make it up to him, one way or another.

“C'mon, man,” Jared encourage low and dirty against Jensen's ear as Jensen's hips snap, his dick sliding into the channel of Jared's fist. “Come for me.”

“It’ll ruin your,” Jensen grunts and bites off a curse as Jared's hand tightens, “shirt, asshole.”

Laughter rumbles through Jared's chest, and he doesn't really remember Jensen opening his pants or thrusting his hand inside, but dammit, it feels good. “Fuck it,” he growls, and he honestly doesn't know if he means the shirt, or his hand, anymore. 

It doesn’t matter because the damn tee's as good as stuck to his chest in the next instant, Jensen's eyes squeezing as tight as his fingers on Jared’s hips. It's okay, though, seeing as the front of Jensen's shorts are pretty much soaked through when Jared does the same a second later.

“Damn you, Stretch,” Jensen groans when he's rolled onto the bed at Jared's side. “Wake me up for stupid fucking orgasms,” he adds. 

Actually, Jared woke Jensen up to tell him about the renewal. The stupid fucking orgasm was a pleasant side effect. 

“So, the network's making the announcement about the show in New York next weekend,” he rolls his face toward Jensen and explains. “They're gonna fly us out on Thursday afternoon, and hold a press conference about their fall line-up on Friday morning.” Propping himself up on his elbow, he smiles down on Jensen with a near-childlike grin. “There's a party on Friday night, and then we're doin' some press and shit on Saturday. You think Tom'll let you get away for a few days?”

Jensen shakes his head, eyes narrowing dramatically. “Uh, no,” he answers, the words acidic in the air between them. “Seeing as my grand opening is Saturday night, that's probably not gonna work for me.” He makes his way to his feet and grabs a pair of jeans from the floor. He's not even trying to hide his anger when he adds, “That'd be the grand opening you promised to be at, by the way.” 

The shower is running by the time Jared runs his hands over his face and moans in frustration. When did this shit between them stop being easy and start feeling like work? Dammit.

*

“How, I ask you, does a place get so fucking filthy before it even opens?” Danneel asks, nose scrunched in disgust from her post on the step ladder as she rotates at the waist and grabs the dust rag that Julie is offering her from the floor. “I swear, Jensen, this place is disgusting!” 

Jensen just rolls his eyes and fights the urge to point out that Danneel thinks hospitals are filthy, too. She's the neatest neat freak he knows. Hell, she'd probably find a speck of dirt on his mother's scrubbed-with-a-toothbrush-for-the-holidays kitchen floor, assuming that his mother still does that.

“OH!” Julie squeals before Jensen has a chance to tell Danneel to control her OCD. “It's nine!” She makes grabby hands all the way across the half-dressed store to grab the television remote. Aiming it like a gun at the flat screen hanging over the cash register, she shrieks in delight when the Slinging Ink theme song starts thrumming loudly.

To his credit, Jensen tries to be resentful of the fact that Jared's partying it up in New York right now when he's supposed to be by Jensen's side for this huge opening in a couple of days. It’s just really fucking hard when Jared, who Jensen knows he won't see for three days, makes his way through the back door of his tattoo parlor, looking thoroughly fucked out and larger than life on the huge flat screen. To the general viewing public, Jared probably appears to be hung over or exhausted. Jensen remembers the night before this was shot, though. He knows better.

Of course, it gets a hell of a lot easier to be pissed off when Jared passes through the curtain to the main floor and finds his number one super client, Brock fucking Kelly, laughing with Sandy at the front desk. 

“I hate that guy,” Jensen mutters, turning abruptly from the screen to begin unpacking another box of tee shirts. 

It's not that he worries about guys flirting with Jared. Usually, Jensen likes it. It gives him a sick sense of satisfaction to know that other guys, and a lot of women for that matter, want his man, but can't have him. There is something about that second-rate soap actor that bothers Jensen, though. Maybe it's Brock's blatant disregard for the fact that Jared's in a relationship. Or maybe it's the fact that Jared doesn't exactly encourage Brock, but he's not trying to shoot him down, either.

Especially in this very special episode of _Slinging Ink_ , apparently. For the next fifteen minutes, he pretends not to notice the easy conversation between Jared and his stalker. He tries not to listen to the way Jared laughs at damn near everything Brock says. He tells himself repeatedly that Jared's a friendly guy and it doesn't mean a damn thing. Jared loves Jensen, for fuck's sake. He doesn't even like Brock and he's nowhere near stupid enough to act like he does in front of a television camera.

It's been well-established on the show that Jared has a boyfriend. Even though Jensen's never been seen, they've aired conversations wherein his name has been mentioned. Jared's even talked about him in those little confessional interviews that the producers make all of the staff do to push the narrative along. The whole world already knows that Jared's taken. 

“How's your man?” Brock asks on the screen, and Jensen's shoulders stiffen instinctively. 

All motion behind him stops as Julie and Danneel wait to hear Jared's response to the question, and Jensen wishes he could tell them to get back to work, wants to demand that they turn this bull shit off and finish up so there's an actual store to showcase on Saturday. 

“Hot as ever,” Jared answers easily, and Jensen's posture relaxes in relief.

“He still jealous of your crush on me?” Brock prods. It sounds like maybe he's trying to be playful, aiming for a joke, kind of but not really. It's pretty fucking obvious that he means it.

Jared huffs and Jensen can almost see him roll his eyes. He still doesn't turn. Can't look at the interaction, even though he can't stop listening. 

“You remind me of him,” are Jared's next words and Jensen thinks he might throw up. “Got those lips, man.” He makes that clicking sound, and Jensen wants to scream or throw something through the huge fucking picture window in front of him. That's the sound that only comes out when Jared is staring at him with that _'I'm gonna fuck you inside out_ look in his eyes.

“So I've heard,” Brock replies, coy like a fucking school girl or some shit. 

“Please,” Danneel's voice sounds behind him just before the sound on the television goes dead. “He barely looks like you,” she says flatly. When Jensen risks a glance in her direction, she rolls her eyes. “He's like the gas station vending machine generic version of you, Jen.”

He smiles a little bit at her assessment, and half-listens as she and Julie list all of the ways that Brock Kelly isn't even in the same glalaxy as Jensen. He appreciates it, but Jensen's never given a damn what other people think of him. 

Except Jared. The same Jared who thinks that Brock has “those” lips. He's heard those words enough to know exactly what his boyfriend meant. ” _God, Jen, yeah, fuck, I love those lips. Feel so good wrapped around my cock, man._ and _Those lips gonna fuckin' kill me, Jen_ and _Fuck, like that, yeah. Gonna paint those pretty fuckin' lips, man.”_

The words ring in his head for the rest of the night, even as he stocks the shelves at Grind, while he weaves through traffic on the way back to Santa Monica, and when he lays back on his empty bed at home.

At first, it fucking hurt like hell to hear his boyfriend babble all over someone else, but by the time the phone lights up with Jared's picture and ringtone at three in the morning, California time, it just pisses Jensen off. Who the hell does Jared Padalecki think he is? What? Being a television star gives him permission to be an world-class asshole, too? 

“'lo,” Jensen asks, tone clipped and terse.

“Hey,” Jared's loose and happy on the other end of the phone.

Which, of course, only pisses Jensen off further. “Havin' fun?” he asks snidely. 

There's no hesitation before Jared answers, “Yeah. 'Swrong with you?” 

“Nothin',” Jensen answers just as quickly, though he sounds bitterly sarcastic to his own ears. “Watched the show tonight,” he tosses in, mostly because he's not in the mood to make small talk.

“Yeah? Whatcha think?” He sounds so hopeful, like he has no idea that he's a dick of epic proportions.

“It was great, Jay,” Jensen pulls himself into a seated position at the end of the bed and kicks one of Jared's stupid shoes for good measure. “Specially the part where you were about to fuck Brock fucking Kelly over your fucking table.” God, he feels like a junior high kid. He needs to stop talking, but once the accusation is out there, he doesn’t want to take it back.

“What the fuck are you-,” Jared starts to ask and then stops short. “Are you drunk?” 

“No, I'm not drunk,” Jensen fires back, on an angry roll now. “Did you think I wouldn't see it? That it wouldn't fucking kill me to watch you eye fuck that bastard? Oh!” Jensen stands and grips the first thing his hand finds on the dresser. “That part where you told him he reminds you of me? That's some damn good television right there, Jay.” He throws the object, strangely unsatisfied that Clogged Plumbing 2: Snaking the Pipes doesn't make more of an impact against the wall.

Jared's not a vindictive guy, but it's not really that hard to goad him into a fight, either. “I'm sure it was,” he answers, words sharp and cutting. “Dude, it's not like I have any control over how they edit that shit.” 

“Oh, that is bull shit and you know it! They don't put the fucking words in your mouth, Jay. They can't edit you tellin' the kid he's got motherfucking cocksucker lips if you don't say the goddamn words.” It wouldn't be half as bad if Jensen didn't know that Jared's never been a guy who says shit he doesn't mean. 

“I didn't tell him,” he starts to defend himself and then stops himself short. “Ya know what? I don't have time for this shit. I called to tell you that I fucking miss you, but I think I changed my mind,” Jared hisses.

Jensen doesn't have time to retaliate before the bastard hangs up the phone and leaves him with nothing but dead air. “Son of a bitch!” he shouts, unaware that his phone has even left his hand until it bounces off their padded headboard and lands with a muted thud in the center of the bed.

Sinking to the bed, Jensen punches the mattress at his side and bites his bottom lip until it bleeds. Maybe he has no right to fly off the handle. Maybe he should try to be a little more understanding but goddammit, it's been weeks, months even, since he spent any quality time with his own fucking boyfriend. He doesn’t want to watch some jackass with teeth too white to be real and too big to fit in his fucking wide-ass mouth doing it on national fucking television.

When his cell phone beeps with a text message, he answers instinctively. _Coulda been you. Offered you a spot on the show. You said no._

Jensen's so angry at the accusation that he shoots off an answer, _Fuck you,_ and then turns his phone off. He means it – fuck Jared, and Brock, and the whole fucking world. 

*

By Saturday morning, Jensen is tired of being angry. He wants to stop, but it just keeps roiling up in his chest every time he thinks about Jared and Brock and JaredAndBrock. So he’s angry every fucking second of the day. Coupled with his usual morning disposition, he's pretty fucking unpleasant.

It's not Brayden's fault that he happens to show up for some practice time in the middle of Jensen's fuck-the-whole-world party for one. It's not his fault that he's happy as any day he gets to spend with one of his favorite people. Also, it’s not his fault that he can't stop fucking talking about the sick kick flip he mastered last night.

It is certainly not his fault when Jensen looks up from his desk and spits, “Can you shut the fuck up for two seconds, Brayden? Jesus. Fuck!”

The kid recoils in an instant, like Jensen's words burn him. “S-s-sorry,” he stammers, backing away with wide eyes.

“No,” Jensen holds his hands up, eyes wide with shock at his own words, and stands from his desk. “ _I'm_ sorry, Bray. That was totally out of line. I'm sorry,” he repeats the apology. “Things are kinda tense right now, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry.” 

“It's cool,” Brayden shrugs his bony shoulders and hitches his board higher over his hip. “I'm just gonna go fuck around for a little bit. We can work some other time,” he assures Jensen, turning before he has a chance to apologize again. 

The ache in Brayden's eyes, the rejection, feels too real, too palpable. He should go after the kid, just tell him that it's all good and take him to get one of those corn dogs he loves so much from that weird vendor with the glass eye down the Pier. He should teach him a gnarly new trick.

Instead, he leans against the sales counter and watches Brayden drop into the pit with ease. _The fuck is wrong with me?_ Jensen wonders. When did his life start to unravel? And how the fuck does he make it stop?

*

Jared has never really minded fighting with Jensen. It probably sounds weird to most people, but they never fight about anything real. Sure, they disagree sometimes and occasionally raise their voices to get a point across, but they don't really fight all that much. When they do, it's over stupid shit that doesn't make a bit of difference in the long run anyway. Half the time, Jared's pretty sure they only press each other's buttons so they can have steamy make up sex, usually involving handcuffs and a dildo Jensen refers to affectionately as 'Gigantor.'

But the other night, Jensen basically accused Jared of cheating on him, or wanting to anyway, with some random dude and that's pretty fucking big. It's not them. It's not what they do. Jared doesn't really consider himself a creature of habit, but when Jensen goes and does something as uncharacteristic as calling Jared out for shit he hasn't even done, it’s bullshit. 

It pisses Jared off because he's never, ever given Jensen any reason not to trust him. He’s never so much as alluded to being interested in anyone else, and never lied to Jensen about anything. Never. So when he says that he wasn't flirting with Brock, he means that he wasn't flirting with Brock and Jensen should know that. He should know Jared better after five years together. Jared thought that he did know him better.

Maybe that's the mind fuck right there. Jensen's the one person in Jared's life who's always just gotten him, no questions and no explanations necessary. But lately it's like they just don't know each other anymore, like maybe Jensen's not as fluent in 'Jared' as he used to be or something. 

He's never known anyone like Jensen, good or bad. He’s never met anyone who can turn him on so thoroughly so quickly, or someone who can push every button he has and piss him off just as fast. He doesn't care about most people enough to give a damn if they're being idiotic or not. He cares too much about Jensen not to let the guy get to him. It's kind of fucking terrifying to know that another person has that kind of power over him.

And when Jared's scared, he's kind of like a caged animal. He’s pissed off and swinging at any and everyone in his path, which is why he snapped at every member of his team on this fucking business trip, and even stooped so low as to send Jensen that asshole text message. He just doesn't really know how to react, and anger is, well, it's easier. 

His first stop after the airport is home, but Jensen isn't there and that just fucks with Jared even more. He has an entire list of grievances, beginning with the way Jensen acted like a fucking drama queen on Thursday, and carrying through the finer points of how they haven't gone a day without speaking in five years, and possibly the fact that Jensen's a giant, insecure baby.

Fists clenched, he shoulders his way into the break room of Slinging Ink with no idea of what he's really doing here. They’re closed until tomorrow, so he has no reason to be here.

“Fuck,” Sophia rolls her eyes and sips at the coffee mug in her hands when she sees her boss walk through the door. Standing, she ignores Jared's 'eat shit and die' expression and nods toward the curtain. “Come with me.” He doesn't, and she stops with a hand on her hip. “Now!”

He was going to head out to his station anyway.

They're never open for business on Sundays, but it's not uncommon for someone to be hanging around, utilizing the studio space for personal projects, during off hours. The fact that Sophia is here doesn't surprise Jared, nor does the pencil drawing she's been sketching on an easel in the natural light of the front picture window. When she grabs the television remote and nods for him to sit on the long, leather couch in the reception area, Jared just raises his eyebrow in question.

“Sit,” she orders, and he can't help wondering if this is payback for the way he told her to stop acting like a twelve-year-old girl at the photoshoot they had to do yesterday. 

“Soph, I'm sorry for yester-,” he starts, only to have her turn narrowed eyes on him that are really fucking scary. 

“You're an ass,” she assesses and Jared thinks that's a little bit uncalled for. Sure, he's been in a bad mood, but that doesn't make him a bad guy. “Look at it through his eyes before you jump to conclusions,” she adds, pressing play and tossing him the remote.

Thursday night's show begins to play on the television and Jared turns to ask how Sophia even knew what he and Jensen fought about the other night. He sure as hell didn't tell anyone. 

“You talk a lot when you drink, Jay,” she informs him as she lowers herself to the stool by the easel and lets him return to his regularly-scheduled viewing.

Fuck all if Jared doesn't see it, right there in crystal fucking clarity. Those fuckers totally edited that whole thing with Brock to make it look like they were about to get horizontal right there in the middle of the shop. 

Yeah, he said that Brock reminded him of Jensen, but it was after Brock told him some filthy joke, the kind that make Jared feel like a virginal eighth grader or something. What he said was, “God, you and Jen, man. Every fuckin' time you say shit like that, _you remind me_ so much _of him_.” 

Later, like three fucking hours later, Brock was long gone and Jared was working on another client. The girl in his chair was flirting with him in ways that even Brock wouldn't dare, and finally just asked him what his boyfriend had that she didn't. Chad made the obvious joke, and Jared chimed in with “And he's _got those lips, man_. Hottest fucking cocksuckin' lips you ever seen. Shit.” 

Of course, the girl's nowhere to be seen on the show, and it totally looks like Jared's eyes are focused on Brock's lips instead of over some random chick's shoulder while he's lost in thought of his boyfriend sucking his dick. Goddammit, _he's_ not entirely sure he wasn't trying to sleep with Brock after watching this, and he knows exactly what was going on. No wonder Jensen's pissed.

He kills the power on the television and stands from the couch. “Reality my fucking ass,” he exclaims and Sophia rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh. 

She's been contending for weeks that she's not the Bridezilla they've turned her into while she and Chad plan their wedding on the show, but Jared just laughs it off and tells her the exact same thing Jensen told him the other night. ' _They can't put it in the show if you don't say it, Soph._ ' The fuck they can't!

He's already dialing his agent while storming down the boardwalk. He's needs to find Jensen and fix this shit now.

Unfortunately for everyone in Jared’s path, Jensen's not at Ollie. Danneel explains that he's down at Grind and that she's on her way there. He can give her a lift, and take the ass-chewing that she's been waiting to give him all weekend like a man.

He does. Though her verbal smackdown amounts to little more than, “You're an ass, Padalecki. Get over yourself.” No wonder she and Sophia are such good friends.

The rest of the trip basically consists of Danneel trying not to laugh as Jared informs his agent that he's “going to approve every damn episode of season two before it goes to air, and if the network doesn't like it, they can fuck a tree stump.”

By the time he eases the car into the spot behind Grind, Danneel's cackling and declaring her eternal love for him, even as he mumbles shit like, “edited for maximum drama my tight, white ass. They can suck my maximum drama. Fuckin' edit this.” 

Jensen doesn’t seem quite so happy to see Jared, though. Or, rather, he doesn’t seem so enthusiastic. It’s alright. Jared can get past that.

“Hey,” is all Jared says, but with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, he assumes Jensen knows he means, _I fucked up. I’m sorry._

In response, Jensen offers a half-wave, his eyes fixed on Jared, as if to say, _I get it. Me, too._

Wordlessly, Jensen leads the way to the back exit, awkwardly pushing through the door and into the employee parking lot. He surges forward to kiss Jared, but then steps back and stares at his feet.

Jared thinks maybe he should apologize, but instead he asks, “Is your passport in your car?” When Jensen nods, Jared stretches his hand forward, a peace offering. “C’mon.”

“What? Where?” Jared’s face must answer the question because Jensen huffs and flails his arms. “I can’t, Jared. I am up to my ears in shit that has got to be done before we open to the public tomorrow. I can’t just traipse off to Mexico right now.”

There is a tantrum brewing in Jared’s chest, mangled up in his pride and an obstinate voice that says he shouldn’t have to beg his own fucking boyfriend to get away with him for a night. “Fucking forget it,” he growls, pushing Jensen’s shoulder as he powers back into the shop and storms toward the front door. 

If the guy doesn’t want to fix whatever this bullshit is between them, Jared can’t make him do it.

*

Alone in the back lot, Jensen stares at the door long after Jared leaves, head reeling with confusion. Ten minutes ago, he wanted Jared to storm in and apologize for being a dickhead, but he has too much to do to just run away to TJ for the hell of it. They’re not those guys anymore. They have bigger responsibilities now, careers and obligations that extend beyond hanging out and having fun all the time.

“What the fuck are you doin'?” Danneel asks when Jensen makes his way back to the show floor and reaches into a box of neon pink and white trucker hats. 

Blinking, he looks from the hat in his hand to the rack and then back to Danneel. “Stockin' the hat rack?” he offers in a question, wondering if there is anything else he could be doing with a handful of fucking trucker hats.

Danneel crosses to him and yanks the hats out of his hand. “I meant what the fuck are you doing in here,” she demands, her thin arm pointing toward the back door. “Why aren't you out there with Jared, kissing and making up?”

This is the same girl who, just yesterday, told him that he should throw all of Jared's personal belongings out the second-story bedroom window because the fucker deserved to come home to his shit all over the lawn. This is the same girl who still hasn't forgiven Tom for the way he used to play Mike, even though the pair has been living together, happily, for almost two years now. 

“We got shit to do,” he responds with a shrug, extending his hand to take his hats back, but Danneel yanks her arm away and shakes her head. “Dammit, Dani, please,” he grits, and it reminds him of the way he yelled at Brayden the other day. That, in turn, makes him feel like an even bigger asshole than he did before.

With one hand twisted in Jensen's tee shirt, Danneel pulls him forward until they're nearly nose-to-nose. “You listen to me carefully, Jensen Ross Ackles,” she bites out the three names and narrows her eyebrows. Danneel is fucking scary. Jesus. “I just spent two hours listening to that fucker curse a blue streak at the Bravo execs and promise them that he would fucking breach his contract with them in a motherfucking heartbeat if they ever so much as thought about fucking with this relationship in their goddamned editing room ever again. And I garun-damn-tee you he wasn't puttin' on a show for my benefit.”

Maybe it's Danneel's tone, or maybe it's just the fact that he already wanted to forgive Jared before, but Jensen is digging his phone out of his pocket before he says, “I should make sure Tom's cool with me leavin'.”

Over his shoulder, Tom huffs. “Dude, you are my boss,” he reminds Jensen.

Well, that's true. He's dialing even as he waves good-bye and heads out to his car. When Jared answers, Jensen says, “I'm heading out right now. Should be at the house in a half hour or so.”

Jared clears his throat over the line and says, “Meet ya in an hour.”

*

 

When Jared mentioned buying a house on the beach in Tijuana a few years ago, Jensen was convinced that he was insane. It's not exactly the most exotic Mexican locale. In fact, just over the border, in California, there are far nicer places, almost just as far away from the world they call home. Plus, those places probably smell better and don't have as much trash on the beach.

But Jared says he loves the house because it isn't pristine and perfect and beautiful. It looks like the kind of place an artist would go to get away, and it's quiet here. It’s far enough removed from the college parties and the madness that is the tourist scene in the city that it actually feels like a retreat. There’s also nobody clamoring to buy up all the real estate around them, so it’s been pretty much the same locals scurrying past their little love nest the whole time they've owned the place.

Jensen is in the bedroom, sitting on the bed and flipping through an old boarding magazine. All of the windows are open – a must since they haven't had time to come down in the last three months – and he’s listening to Green Day when he hears Jared’s bike roar to a stop out front.

A part of Jensen desperately wants to jump up and run to meet Jared at the front door, but that’s not exactly their thing.

He listens as Jared opens the door, stalls for a moment, and then wanders into the kitchen. He’ll be finding the beer and fresh salsa Jensen grabbed at that place down the road they love right about now. 

While he feels Jared the second he steps into the doorway, his breath still catches in his throat when he looks up to find Jared practically fellating the bottle in his mouth, tongue dragging over the lip as his eyes zero in on Jensen's mouth. 

The overwhelming sentiment in the air between them is more than awkward.

Where do we start? Where do we go from here?

It's not that they're bad at talking to each other. Sometimes it's even hard to shut them up. But when it comes to all of this shit piling up between them, there are no words.

Jared crosses the room and sets his beer on the table next to the bed before shucking his tank top and dropping it on the floor. With grace that belies his enormous form, he crawls onto the end of the bed and positions himself on his knees between Jensen's instinctively spread thighs. “Hi,” he greets, dipping his head to capture Jensen's lips in his own.

They're not really a kiss-y couple. Aside from quick greetings, they don't waste a lot of time on making out anymore. Usually, when they're alone, their hands start fumbling for belt buckles as soon as their lips touch. But today, Jared seems to need to slow down, to let his body do the talking for him. 

For the life of him, Jensen can't figure out why he doesn't knock Jared down and kiss him breathless more often. The man is a fucking master with his lips, for fuck's sake. He’s aggressive with one huge hand on the back of Jensen's neck, and the other holding the side of his face firmly in place but he's slow and deliberate in the way that he sucks and nips at Jensen's lips, rolling his tongue in and out of Jensen's mouth languidly. 

Jensen's hands trail up and down Jared's hard back, can feel the moan in his own throat as the mounds of muscle shifts under his fingers. Jared's skin is warm, and what Jensen really wants is to get out of these stupid jeans and get some real friction. He settles, instead, on shaking Jared's hands from his face and sitting forward as much as he can. 

His tongue darts out, licking at the curves of Jared's chest, flicking over his nipples until they pebble. 

“Jesus,” Jared groans, so fucking desperate for whatever Jensen gives him. 

Shit, what this guy does to him. 

His wet lips trace the J on Jared’s sternum, the pisces on his right pectoral, and the tail of the dragon curling over Jared’s collarbone, until Jared pushes him back against the pillows.

He stops for a second, staring at Jensen like he’s trying to read every thought inside his head. Jensen isn’t even sure he can untangle his own mess of thoughts right now, but he doesn’t flinch. When he swoops in for another kiss, complete with tongues and his hands on both sides of Jensen’s jaw, Jensen fucking whimpers. Fuck, but Jared is a good goddamn kisser.

In their five years together, Jensen is fairly certain they’ve never been so slow to get to the actual fucking. Of course, it could be that they’ve been so damn frenzied with each other lately, squeezing in a quickie when their schedules allow it or insisting on crowding out words with spastic physicality. 

Today, though, they’re in Mexico with all of the time in the world. It’s about more than getting off in five minutes and rushing back to the other distractions in their lives.

Jensen’s hands bunch and gather the denim covering Jared's firm ass, and Jared rocks down, just an echo of a touch brushing Jensen's hips before it's gone again. He arches and crawls back enough to shove the Sex Pistols tee shirt up to Jensen's arm pits before returning the attention he received earlier, taking extra care to tug and bite at the matching platinum rings piercing Jensen's nipples.

After what feels like an eternity of more deep, probing kisses, Jared finally eases Jensen's shirt over his head and then kicks out of his own jeans. Clad only in his boxer briefs, Jared shifts his knees, prying Jensen's thighs further open, until he can feel Jared’s cock hot against the inside of his thigh, even through his own jeans. He should really think about getting rid of those soon.

It’s hard to focus on anything else, though, when Jared rocks forward and growls into Jensen's mouth. Jensen's hands slip below the waist band of his shorts, fingers brushing Jared's ass. 

Gasping as he pulls back, Jared narrows his eyes. “Suck a fuckin’ tease, Jen,” he says.

Jensen doesn’t bother to deny it, smirking in a way that turns only the corner of his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Jay,” Jensen exclaims when Jared’s kisses land hot and wet against Jensen’s stomach. 

He makes quick work of Jensen’s belt and the button beneath it. Then he fucking grasps the zipper in his teeth and looks up through his eyelashes, growling low and playful even as Jensen throws his head back and curses under his breath.

The snail's pace Jared is setting is all fine and good. No, really, it's fine and fucking good. It’s just not enough anymore. Jensen has had just about enough of the foreplay.

“Come on, Jay,” he protests when Jared wedges his knee against Jensen's already aching cock and grins like a fucking maniac.

“Tell me, Jen,” Jared encourages, palm massaging over Jared's throbbing dick. “Tell me what ya want.” 

The Texas drawl that seeps into the edges of Jared's words only makes Jensen buck his hips and grunt a little from the back of his throat, but Jared won't let him move. He just keeps watching for his next instructions, like he doesn't fuckin' know what to do with a dick two inches from his mouth. 

“Suck it,” Jensen orders when it becomes obvious that Jared won't do anything without an actual verbal command.

He barely has time to blink before Jared is swallowing his cock whole, hand tightly wrapped around the base to stave off a release, moaning and humming like a goddamn porn star.

“Oh Jesus,” Jensen's eyes roll back and his head presses hard into the pillow. “Fuck, Jared.” he grits out, voice raw and ragged as his hands find the back of Jared's head. He doesn't really grip, but Jared's sure as hell not going anywhere, either.

It makes Jared smile. Pulling back with a wet 'pop,' he nuzzles the head of Jensen's cock with his chin and says, “Give it to me, Jen.”

His voice is jagged with the burn of taking Jensen so far, but he swallows him back down anyway, throat working around the weight of Jensen’s cock in his mouth as he relaxes his fingers around the base and welcomes the release.

Nobody will ever convince Jensen that his heart doesn't stop the moment his cock erupts against Jared's tongue. There's no way Jared is going to be able to swallow it all, but give him a medal for a valiant effort. Besides, if there's anything hotter than the sight of Jared, lips red and swollen, chin and cheek painted white with droplets of come, Jensen certainly doesn't know what the fuck it is.

The laugh that rips from Jared's chest is gritty and fucked-raw. He clears his throat and watches Jensen unfurl, his legs and arms falling limp against the white sheets. 

“You know you're not done yet, right?” he asks, eyebrow raised as he stretches out at Jensen's side, nodding lazily toward the bulge in his own jeans.

Jensen's eyes flit down and then back up, happy and sated. With all of the strength he can muster, he winds his arms around Jared’s neck and rolls them until he can smile down on him. “Gonna fuck you like I mean it, Jay.”

*

“What the hell d’you think you’re doin’?” Jared voice asks quietly through the filter of his fucked out, sleep-constricted throat. 

Jensen just makes an noncommittal sound and trails his finger down Jared’s ass and between his legs. By the time they dragged themselves into the shower earlier, it was after eleven. They’d been fucking for nearly six hours, on and off, but Jensen is exhausted. Still, sleep isn’t coming.

Jared turns enough to shoot a warning glance over his shoulder, but Jensen just pulls back with a sated smile and waits for Jared to flop onto his back. 

They don’t spend a lot of time staring longingly into each other’s eyes, but this time when their eyes meet, no words come out. No words seem necessary really. It’s been five years. They’re capable of having entire conversations without ever opening their mouths, it would seem.

_I think I fucked up._

_I think I over reacted._

_I’m sorry._

_I miss you._

_I love you so fucking much, it makes me crazy._

“I need to recharge,” Jared finally growls when his stomach does the same.

With a nod, Jensen casts a glance at the bedside table. It’s nearing four in the morning but they’ve been here enough to know which bars stay open all night, which ones have chefs that can be bribed to make a cheeseburger on short notice.

Jensen’s limbs feel like wet noodles and it takes him more than a few minutes, and a couple of stumbles, to feel stable on his feet again. “Jesus, man, think you fuckin' broke me,” he accuses with nothing but humor and laughter in his voice.

Jared smiles, genuine and bright, and it feels damn good to do it again. “Me? I'm not the one who pulled on your legs like I was tryin' to crack a wishbone.” 

They bicker about who has the more severe sex-related injuries while they dress and Jared grabs Jensen’s keys, indicating that he'll be driving to wherever they end up. Jensen would argue, but he feels more relaxed than he has in months. This feels like them, more right, than it has in a long damn time. Jared can do whatever the fuck he wants right now.

They’re on the porch when Jensen’s cell phone rings. 

“You’re supposed to turn that off when we’re here,” Jared reminds him.

Jensen shrugs and pulls the phone from his pocket. “I thought I did,” he answers, flipping it open. “Hey, Chris. 'Sup?” 

It feels like he’s been punched in the stomach as he listens to his friend on the other end of the phone. His limbs go numb. He barely feels the post of the front porch when he leans against it, but he’s glad it’s there, afraid he might collapse otherwise. 

“What the fuck?” Jared asks when Jensen hangs up the phone. He’s got one hand on Jensen’s shoulder when he asks, “What’s goin’ on?”

Jensen just shakes his head, speaks to his shoes because he can’t bring himself to move. “There was an accident in Inglewood,” he says, clearing his throat as his voice catches on his emotions. “It’s Bray,” he says, raising his head to finally meet Jared’s eye. He can feel the tears, but he has never cared less about showing his emotions. “They don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.”

 

*

 

“What the fuck was he doing in fucking Inglewood?” Jared asks, fist clenched over the gear shift as he exits from I-5 onto the 405 in Long Beach. 

They're only about fifteen minutes out, and a trip that should have taken about two and a half hours has taken more like an and hour and fifteen. They made one stop, to drop Jared’s bike off at Grind, but it only took a few seconds. Conversation has been minimal, at best. The only words, really, have been Jared's occasional angry curses and unanswerable questions. Jensen only stares out the window, silently trying to conceal the sniffles Jared can’t help but hear through the haze of anger buzzing in his brain.

Less than two hours ago, they were talking about who has better flexibility and taunting each other with promises of what they were going to do after Hector made them double cheeseburgers. There was detailed talk of fucking through sunrise on the back deck. For the first time in the better part of a year, they were running on all cylinders. Life was fucking good again.

Then Rick had to go and wrap his car around a tree on a rain-slicked street in Inglewood. According to Chris, Brayden's dad is a little banged up, but he was checked over in the ER and released without ever being admitted. The bastard walked away with scratches.

Brayden didn't fare nearly so well. Rick freaked out at the hospital and called Lindsay, who moved back to Texas to live with her parents and work on her sobriety about a year ago. Apparently, they still talk from time to time, but Jared couldn’t care any less about either of them right now.

Lindsay called Chris to let him know that Brayden had a couple broken bones upon arriving at the hospital, and there's internal bleeding. The doctors won't know the extent of his injuries until they can get it to stop. They suspect one lung is either punctured or collapsed, though.

He could be dead by the time they get there. 

“The last thing I said to him was _shut the fuck up for two seconds,_ ” Jensen says as Jared takes the exit to the hospital.

The tires squeal into the parking space near the ER entrance and Jared’s half-way to the door before Jensen even manages to get himself out of the car.

Rick rises to meet them in the waiting room, cradling a cup of coffee and looking like he tripped on an uneven stretch of sidewalk rather than ramming his car into a damn telephone pole. That alone makes Jared’s blood boil.

“What the hell did you do?” he asks.

Jensen tucks his fingers into the back of Jared’s jeans, tugging at them like that’s going to stop Jared. “Jay,” he grumbles.

It doesn’t stop Jared from lurching forward again. “What? You’ve never driven in the rain before, asshole? How fast were you goin’, huh? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Alright, Jared, stop it,” Jensen demands, tugging him back again, harder this time.

“Get off me, Jensen,” Jared fires back, eyes laser-focused on the wrecked man in front of him. “Are you,” he stops and tilts his head to the side. “You better pray to whatever fucking god you believe in that your pupils are dilated because of the painkillers they gave you in this place because so help me, motherfucker, if I find out that you were tweakin' on anything when you got behind the wheel of that car, I will end you,” he hisses, tone scarily low and angry.

To his credit, Rick maintains his composure and stands his ground. “You wanna see my son? You best be gettin' that finger outta my face, man.”

“Jared, now,” Jensen pulls harder and manages to catch Jared off guard. When he pulls on Jared's arm, he knows how angry he must look. Even Jensen shudders and Jensen is never afraid of him. “Dude, can it with the guard dog act,” he instructs. “In case you forgot, he is the one who stands between us seeing Brayden and getting carted out of here in cuffs. Get it under control,” he orders. 

Before either of them can apologize, though none of them will mean it, Rick speaks. “Ya know, I never liked the idea of two fucking flamers lookin’ out for my kid in the first place. I know it probably bums you out your junior fuck toy is out of commission but-,”

Jared’s hands are shaking, but it’s Jensen who moves like lightning, grabbing Rick by the collar and pulling him in until they’re sharing air. “I’m gonna say this once so you better fucking listen, you burnt out son of a whore,” he whispers with so much venom, Jared freezes in his place. “I am the reasonable one out of the two of us. You ever so much as imply what you just did again, I won't be able to stop him.” With a raise of his eyebrow, he adds, “And I won't try.”

Normally, Jared is the scary one, but it's Jensen who is drawing Rick's wide eyes and understanding nod. “Look, it's been a long day, okay?” Rick finally says when he's regained control of his mouth. “Visiting hours don't start for another couple hours, but if you wanna go in and see him, I'm not gonna stop you. Just,” he doesn't bother looking at Jared at all, “I'll head off the nurses.”

They step into the room together, the hum of machines breaking the otherwise painful silence. 

Brayden has always been scrawny. Even as he’s gotten taller, he never really seems to get any bigger. Here, stretched out pale against stark, white sheets and hooked up to beeping monitors, he looks tiny and fragile. Angry bruises mar his face, neck, and arms. A cast extends from his right elbow to his wrist. One leg is elevated and braced. There’s a blue tube in his mouth, breathing for him.

Jensen is mumbling questions at Jared’s side, random and pointless things that barely seem to go together. “Just open your eyes, Kiddo. There’s this new design was thinking of for you the other day. Does it hurt? You can’t do that kick flip you’ve been working on with your leg all busted up like that. You have to wake up, okay? Just wake up.”

Beside him, Jared's thumbs tap out a disjointed rhythm against the railing at the foot of Brayden's bed. His jaw is set hard enough to hurt and he wants to punch something very, very badly.

“Jay,” Jensen starts, hand reaching out to rest on Jared's wrist.

But Jared barely hears him. God, he's so angry, his body is vibrating with it. The problem is, he's not sure who he's mad at. Brayden, for being here like this. Rick, for putting Brayden here. Jensen, for not letting him punch Rick earlier. Maybe it’s himself, for getting so damn close to this kid that his heart fucking aches with the helplessness of everything that's happening.

This is why he doesn't get close to people, why it's damn near impossible to penetrate his tight-knit circle of friends. Getting close gives people the power to hurt him, even when they don't mean to, even when it's not their fault. If he didn't give a damn about Brayden, he wouldn't be thrumming with his explosive energy that feels like it's going to tear him apart at any second.

He has to get out, has to take a breath of air untainted by antiseptic and hopelessness and almost-death. He has to put some distance between himself and his life before he does something he can't take back.

“Jay?” Jensen's questioning voice follows him as he turns without a word and heads to the door. “Jared, come on, man,” he tries again, and Jared hears the wavering in his voice. He’s asking for support, for Jared to stick around, even though it's hard.

Jared can’t. Casting a glance over his shoulder that never quite reaches Jensen, he cards his fingers through his hair and says, “If I stay, I'm just gonna end up gettin' my ass arrested.” Jensen doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. It wouldn't matter anyway. 

Outside the room, he doesn’t bother stopping to look at Rick. He doesn’t stop at all, just makes his way to the parking lot, behind the wheel, brain never stopping to think about where he’s going to go now.

Two hours ago, life was good. Jared was loose. He and Jensen were connected. Brayden was an afterthought, one they would bring back into focus when they were done roaming the playground of each others' bodies. Two hours ago, it almost felt like nothing had ever been wrong in their lives.

And now, just like that, nothing is right anymore.

*

Jared remembers growing up in San Antonio. He remembers getting angry, or hurt, or scared and just dealing with it. Nobody helped him shoulder his problems and that was okay because he didn't fucking need anybody else anyway. He could find a group to party with, if he felt like celebrating. He could find a mouthy fucker to fight, if he needed to blow off steam. He could find a willing body, if he needed to fuck everything else in the world away for a little while.

Now he parties with Jensen. He fights with Jensen. When he needs to escape the bull shit in his life, he fucks Jensen, which is what he really wants to do right now. So what if it's nine thirty in the morning and he stumbled out of Chad's basement bar to four missed calls from the guy? So what if Jensen seems pretty pissed off in his voice mail, telling Jared not to worry about coming back to pick him up from the hospital, he'd found another ride.

Surely, Jensen understands that Jared's having a hard time dealing with all of this bull shit. He knows Jared, after all. He knows what Jared needs before Jared does sometimes. Of course he's going to be happy to help Jared blow off some steam. He's a good boyfriend like that. 

By the time he clomps his drunk ass up the stairs like an elephant in combat boots, Jared's shirt is in his hand and he's fumbling with the buckle on his belt. He wavers a little in the doorway of their bedroom, almost trips over the legs of his pants when he's kicking his way out of them, but he manages to get himself naked eventually and staggers toward the Jensen-shaped lump in the middle of their bed.

He paws and pulls at the covers until Jensen’s fading purple mop appears, followed by golden, freckled skin that makes Jared's mouth water. 

“Jen,” he whispers loudly, and receives only an angry grunt in return. “Jen,” he tries again, louder. “C'mon. Wake up. Wanna touch you,” he slurs, hands groping with little coordination to simultaneously pull the covers back and maul Jensen's sleep-warmed skin.

“Get off me!” Jensen growls, face pressed against the pillow. When Jared doesn't get the hint, Jensen throws a shoulder back and connects soundly with the side of Jared's cheek. “Fuck off, Jared,” is his only apology.

There's no rhythm or choreography in the way Jared throws a leg over Jensen's hip and presses his lips to the back of Jensen’s neck. “Wanna fuck you,” he breathes against Jensen's skin.

“Get off!” Jensen's voice is rough with sleep and anger as he rolls onto his back and pushes weakly at the mass of drunken muscle draped over his side. “Jesus Christ, asshole, did you drink the whole bar?” he asks, hand covering Jared's face in an attempt to create a shield between Jared’s alcoholic breath and his own nose.

“Gotta forget.” He fucking hates how his voice sounds, pleading and small, like a lost little boy. 

“Fuck you, Jared,” is all he says.

Jared pulls himself from the bed. “Fuck you, Ackles. I don't need you,” he shoots back, and he's not even sure what he's saying anymore. Just mumbling bull shit about not needing anybody and ' _the whole damn world can fuck a duck for all I fuckin' care_ ' as he makes a valiant effort at storming out of the room, slamming into the door frame on the way.

*

When he’s alone in their room again, Jensen rolls onto his side and tries to find sleep again, but it's just not happening anymore. 

Jared only gets like this when he's crazy-fucked up over something and doesn't know how else to deal with it. Jensen has seen it a total of four or five times in the last five years but that doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with.

After another twenty minutes of willing sleep to come and failing, Jensen gives up. Stretching and popping his back, he takes a moment to gather his bearings and then heads down to the kitchen. It's weird, not having coffee waiting in the pot, but that's Jared's thing. He gets up first, starts the coffee, and then jumps in the shower. Jensen stumbles in later, and drinks whatever Jared left for him. They have a routine. 

They have a lot of routines, he realizes as he rests his hip against the counter and waits for the machine to work its magic. Even when their schedules are crazy and they don't see each other all that much, there are ways that they connect. Maybe it's not as intense and all-consuming as it once was, but it's something. 

Jared leaves lewd messages on the shower wall for Jensen to find when he steams the place up an hour later. Jensen draws stupid cartoon characters on napkins or old bill envelopes for Jared to find on the dresser while he's getting ready in the morning. They leave each other ridiculous voice mail messages and texts in the middle of the day that are nothing but random, and possibly insane. Jared makes coffee in the mornings, and Jensen makes sure there's beer or whatever they might want to unwind with at the end of the night. 

Earlier this morning, when Chris was driving him home from the hospital and Jensen was fuming, Chris said something that stuck in the corner of Jensen's brain. 

“ _Never thought I'd see the day Jensen Ackles put up with bull shit like this. Kinda sweet, man._ ” 

At the time, he told Chris to fuck off and went back to sulking and cursing Jared in his head but now that he thinks about it, Chris is right. Jensen's never been the guy who would stick around when shit started going south. He's left relationships for a lot less than the shit he's ever gone through with Jared more than once. At the first sign of anything less than utopia, and Jensen was out the door.

It didn't occur to Jensen, until Chris said it last night, that he hasn't even thought about leaving Jared. Not once in the last year has he ever considered packing up and moving out or about severing the weakening ties between them. It's just never been an option that he considered. Sure, it sucks donkey balls when things aren't easy, but it just doesn't ever cross his mind to give up.

Fresh coffee mugs in both hands, Jensen climbs the stairs again and checks the guest room for Jared, only to find it empty. His heart stutters when he hears a soft snoring from the room at the end of the hall. 

The sight of Jared's massive limbs hanging off of Brayden's bed almost makes him lose both cups. He's passed out, face smashed against Brayden's pillow, and he looks every bit as small and fragile as Brayden did in the hospital this morning. 

Jared always sleeps with his mouth open, and his hair in his face, and Jensen fights the urge to go brush it away from his forehead. Instead, he sets both coffee cups on Brayden's nightstand and crosses to the closet. Covering Jared with a thick blanket, Jensen grabs his own cup and leaves Jared's in case he wakes up before it gets cold. 

For Jensen, it's simple. He doesn't think about leaving because he loves Jared. He wants to be with idiot, even when he's being a gigantic asshole of epic proportions. He decided a long time ago that he was in this for the long haul. He's not ready to give up on that. 

Still, something's going to have to give. They can't keep drifting, re-connecting, and then splintering apart again. It never used to matter what was going on around them – circumstances be damned, they were together. They have to get back to that again. 

*

He should be at work. Jensen knows he should be heading to Ollie to check in, being as he hasn't really been there much lately. With the opening of the new store, he's spent a lot more time in San Diego than he has at the flagship store. Plus, he kind of wants to grab his board and leave some of this tension on the pipe.

He tells himself that he's just going to pop in and see how Brayden's doing, just a cursory check-in and then he'll be on his way, but when he gets there, Danneel and Mike are sitting in the chairs on either side of Bray's bed, smiling and talking about something Jensen can't quite hear from the doorway.

“Hey, you,” Danneel smiles softly, eyes full of understanding as she moves to meet him at the foot of the bed and offer him a hug. “Thought you might show your face around here soon.”

Jensen just nods because the atmosphere in this room is weird. There are balloons and flowers all along the window sill, along with a few pencil drawings and paintings, gifts that weren't there when he left this morning. He does a quick count of the items in his head, and figures everyone at Slinging Ink and Ollie took it upon themselves to brighten up Brayden's room. He loves them all for it, but kind of hates that they had to at the same time.

“How you doin', man?” Mike asks when Jensen leans against the wall and nods for Danneel to take her seat back.

Instead of answering, he looks around and lets his eyes dart to the hall. “Where's Rick?” he asks.

A strange look passes between his friends and Danneel catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Don't know,” she answers finally. “Nurse said he left a little while after you did, and that he hasn't been back since.”

Of course he did. Leaving is what the guy's good at, after all. The thought is bitter against the back of his throat, but Jensen forces it down. He can't bring that kind of negativity into Brayden's room. He won't. This isn't about Rick, or how big of an ignorant douche he proved himself to be last night. It's about the kid in the bed, bruises darkening in some places and fading in others. 

“His color looks better,” Jensen mutters the random thought as it pops into his head.

Mike leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “They said his vitals were lookin' better, too,” he says, voice all encouraging and helpful. God love him, Mike is a spazz and a half most of the time, but when it comes to being there for his friends, he's a fucking master. Jensen kind of admires him for that.

With a nod, Jensen lets his eyes linger on Brayden's rising and falling chest. God, he's so small, so fucking young and unassuming. It doesn't strike Jensen as the least bit strange that he would give everything that he has – both businesses, both houses, the bike, and every ounce of talent God blessed him with – to be able to switch places right now, to be the one lying in that bed, surviving on borrowed air and morphine, just so Brayden doesn't fucking have to. 

“I'm gonna take a walk,” he announces to no one in particular before ambling out of the room and down the hall.

It only takes Danneel about fifteen minutes to find him in the front row of the small hospital chapel, elbows on his knees, head dipped in prayer. He feels her hand on his back, but doesn't turn to look.

“I should be getting back to the store,” he says when the silence stretches too long.

Her fingernails are working up and down the back of his tee shirt and it makes Jensen think of childhood, his mother and the times that didn't suck out loud. “Nothing there that can't wait this out, kid,” she answers, chin coming to rest on his hunched shoulder.

“Nothin' here that I can change, either, Dani,” he responds to her statement, letting her cradle him for just a second before he sits back and stretches his legs out. His lined eyes drift to the crucifix hanging on the wall and he shakes his head before looking at her. “I hate feeling like I don't have control of my own life anymore.” 

“This isn't really about Brayden, is it?” Leave it to Danneel to cut directly to the heart of the problem without any preamble or foreplay. “Jensen, every relationship goes through rough patches, man.”

How in the hell did he end up here? In a hospital chapel, scared as shit for some kid he has no rights to, discussing his big gay relationship with his number one employee? Life is fucking weird sometimes.

“Not us,” Jensen disagrees. He and Jared don't have rough patches. They argue, sure. They debate and sometimes get a little heated. Maybe they fight a little, but it's loud, it gets ugly and messy, and then it's over. There are no rough patches because it never lasts long enough to become anything more than a speed bump. This slow burn isn't them. “We don't. We're not like this.”

What he doesn't say is that it's the reason he's always believed that Jared is the right guy for him. It's never been this easy, not with anyone. Since day one, he's never felt like he was struggling or fighting for a reason to believe in them. He's never had to think about what happens next or worry about whether or not Jared's coming home. He's never been concerned that Jared might want something else. Things like time, and distance, and Brock Kelly, and Jared's anger have never been issues before. That's the reason that Jensen's always known that this thing with Jared is right.

Except all of those things exist now. One marathon night in Mexico isn't going to fix it all. He can't help thinking that maybe it's a sign or something. Lifting his eyes back to the crucifix, he says so, “What if it's some kind of sign?”

“Sign of what?” Danneel asks, unamused. “That you're a moron?” When Jensen turns to look at her, she rolls her eyes. “Dude, you're in a long-term, committed relationship. And I know you've never done this before, but they're supposed to be hard sometimes. You can't spend your entire life with someone and expect it to be schmoopy candy canes and butterflies all the time. Sure, it took you and Jared a little longer than most to get to the challenging part, but dammit, Jensen,” she just rolls her eyes again when he nods toward the cross, as if reminding her where they are, “life is beautiful because it's not predictable. Because you don't know what comes next. Sometimes it just fucking sucks and is really unfair. That's just how it is. Sometimes shit just happens, man. What makes you think you're so charmed, huh?” Her fingers card through his hair as she smiles into the words. “That you never have to go through the hard shit like the rest of us?”

Long after Danneel leaves, he's thinking about her words, about the weight and meaning of them. Their life has been pretty fucking easy to this point. They have good jobs and successful businesses. They party hard and laugh a lot. They have loyal friends who are supportive and understanding. 

Maybe Danneel's right. Maybe life just sucks sometimes. And maybe sometimes he’s just gotta put his head down and shoulder through it. It doesn’t stop him from wishing that they weren't trying so damn hard to push through it alone, instead of together, like they used to.

*

“Dude, that's disgusting.”

Chad laughs and pushes the plate of greasy bacon and eggs closer to Jared's side of the table. Chad knew, like Chad always knows, that Jared was going to need some serious hangover therapy this morning. He called the entire crew and told them to meet up at Denny’s, of all places.

“Eat up, Jay-man,” Genevieve encourages, winking at the waitress when she leaves another cup of coffee for their fearless leader. “Only way to kick that shit outta your head.”

He glares, but she only smiles wider and leans forward on her elbows in the booth. Next to her, Katie pulls her blond hair into a ponytail and looks bored. She always looks bored, but she does damn good work when it comes to rainbows and butterflies and cupcakes and pinup girl tats, which are growing steadily in popularity since the show has been on the air.

“So this kid,” Katie starts, and then recoils at the looks shot her way from around the table. “What?” 

To be fair, she knows that Brayden hangs around a lot but she doesn't know enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Brayden,” Jared answers when he's devoured four strips of bacon and three sausage links, downing his coffee like it's a shot of smooth whiskey. “The kid's name is Brayden,” he clarifies. “And his dad's a fucking junkie asshole who was probably higher than a kite when he wrecked that goddamn car,” he starts, and then stops himself when Sophia's hand falls on his arm across the table. 

“Babe, you gotta stop,” she advises, “Rick's been clean for a year and a half,” she reminds him, and it's logical, but it's not what Jared wants to believe.

Brayden's in a hospital bed, for fuck's sake. It's gotta be someone's fault. There has to be a reason for it. He just can't accept that sometimes bad shit happens to good people. He can't fathom that the God Jensen believes in would let an innocent kid die on accident. He needs someone to be angry with, something to focus on.

“So, how was Mexico?” Tom asks when the silence, and Jared's brooding, gets to be a little too much.

Turning his head, as though seeing him for the first time, Jared asks, “The fuck are you doin' here?” Tom is the only person at the table who works for Jensen, not him. 

“I was hungry,” Tom shrugs, shoveling another forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

“Did you get things all straightened out with Jen?” Sandy asks, fearless even though she knows damn well Jared could take her head off for asking such a personal question, in front of everyone, no less. Of course, they all know about the fight, they were all in New York with him, so he figures there's not much to be mad at her for at this point.

Jared takes another long drink of his coffee and shrugs his shoulders. “Much as it's gonna be straightened out, I guess,” he answers. 

Their time in Mexico was fantastic, but real life butted in, like it has every other time they've come close to reconnecting in the last eight months. If Jared was superstitious, he would think that it was some kind of sign.

“All I know is y'all better fuckin' figure it out,” Genevieve throws in, checking her fingernails before raising her eyes back to her boss's face. “Y'all are the only example of a functional relationship I have. Without you, I abandon all hope.”

“Hey,” Chad speaks up, mouth still full of eggs as he narrows his brows toward Genevieve. “We have a perfectly functional relationship,” he insists, arm wrapping around his new bride's shoulder. They've only been married for about three months, but they've been together for almost seven years, not counting the eight thousand times they've broken up. 

Jared never counts those because they always end up back together. The sad thing is that Chad's right. He and Sophia are highly functional. Cracked and crazy, sure, but functional when fitted together.

“You're hetero. That doesn't count,” Genevieve rolls her eyes and Katie laughs. 

The way Jared hears it, Katie really didn’t like Genevieve when they first met a few years ago. Sophia says that Katie thought Genevieve was just a miniature, knock off version of Katie herself, just a baby lesbian pretending to be more of a bad ass than she really was. Maybe working together has changed something, but they seem to be getting along just fine to Jared.

“You tried actually talking to him about whatever's going on with you guys?” Steve asks from his spot in the corner of the booth. For a minute, Jared forgot he was even there, but it's not unusual with Steve. He's perfectly happy to sit back and be part of the group, without actually contributing words. Sometimes, he's Jared's favorite. 

Sophia rolls her eyes at the question and grabs a hash brown from Chad's plate. “'Course he hasn't,” she says. “They're guys. They don't talk about shit like that, or so they say.” 

To be fair, she’s heard him say it a thousand times, though Jared's pretty sure he's never sounded quite so snarky when he says them.

“Some guys do,” Tom interjects. “Mike and I would kill each other if we didn't talk about stuff once in a while.” Jared, Chad, and Steve all shoot him incredulous eyebrow-raises. “What?”

With a shake of his head, Chad takes another bite and chuckles. “Dude, sometimes I can't believe it took you so damn long to figure out you were gay,” he laughs, and the rest of the table follows him.

Before anyone can ask him any more questions, Jared’s phone rings against his hip. Jensen. He pulls it out, swallows the sausage in his mouth, and clears his throat with another pull from his coffee mug. “Hey,” he says, one finger in his other ear so that he can hear. 

“Hey.” Jensen's voice is indecipherable, so it's kind of shocking when he says, “Bray's awake. He wants to see you.”

*

“Still think it looks like snot, if you ask me,” Jensen is saying when Jared gently shoulders his way into Brayden's room. 

Jensen’s elbows are resting on the side of the bed, and he's staring in contempt at that green jello that Brayden's always loved so much.

The only response from Brayden is a narrowing of his eyes and a weak raise of his hand, middle finger extended. Jensen laughs, and Jared takes a second to collect himself before stepping fully into the room.

The drive from the restaurant to the hospital wreaked havoc on his emotions and it was all he could do to force himself out of the car when he got here. Seeing Brayden unconscious was hard, but he's somehow sure that seeing him awake and a shell of the kid he used to be, is going to be even harder.

“Hey, look who's here,” Jensen smiles brightly, nodding in Jared's direction as he finally lowers himself into the small, plastic chair on the other side of Brayden's bed. 

His head doesn't move much, but Brayden's lips curl into a bright smile and his eyes light up just a little bit. “Hey, Jay,” he manages to croak out, and then Jensen is offering him ice chips and hovering like a fucking mother hen. 

He doesn't know what to say. Everything sounds stupid and clunky in his head. Brayden’'s eyes are open, but he's barely moving and he can't even speak. It's not like Jared can just greet him like he usually does. ' _What's up, Kid?_ ' and ' _How's it goin'?_ ' hardly seem appropriate. 

Wracking his brain for the words, Jared barely notices when Jensen holds out a package of fine-tipped sharpies. Their eyes meet and Jared wordlessly asks, 'What's this?' 

Jensen nods his head toward the kid in response.

“Ink me,” Brayden's tiny voice rasps, eyes dancing and hopeful. 

And just like that, he's the kid Jared's always known. Yeah, he's battered and broken, but he's still the same kid. Jared thinks maybe he was worried about brain damage or something, but this is one hundred percent Brayden, through and through.

Taking the pens from Jensen, he shakes his head and catches Brayden's wide, blue stare. “Ya know, if ya really wanted a tat this bad, kid, all you had to do was ask,” he teases. “Didn't have to go break your arm for it.” 

Brayden aims the middle finger at Jared this time, but he's smiling wider than before as Jared pulls his chair closer and considers an angle that will allow him access to the cast without hurting Brayden any further. “What are we doin'?” he asks.

Brayden motions with a nod toward Jared's own arm. “Sleeve,” he instructs.

“The whole thing?” Jared narrows his eyes. “Where you gonna have all the girls sign it then?” Brayden smiles and nods toward his leg, still elevated and braced. “They gonna cast that one, too?” he asks, eyes flitting to Jensen for a response. 

He receives only a nod from Jensen, who's leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. There's a soft smile on Jensen's lips and he has to admit that it looks damn good. Jensen looks good. Sometimes Jared forgets how fucking good Jensen can look. 

For the next forty-five minutes, he pours over the design. He draws a half-pipe and a figure that looks strangely like Brayden's favorite X-Man, Gambit, with his long duster flowing in the wind generated by the boardslide he's executing along the lip of the pipe. But this Gambit has blue hair, and wears Dickies under his coat, with big-ass skate shoes, like the ones Jensen loves so much. On the ground, beside the pipe, a cobra like the one on Chad's chest, crawls through the bleeding eye sockets of a skull like the ones on Jared's arms. Standing on the opposite side of the pipe, cheering his punk Gambit on, is a buxom Wonder Woman like the one on Sophia's left shoulder.

By the time he finishes, Brayden's asleep, the only sound in the room the beeping of the machines and monitors still attached to his weak body. 

Jared caps the last pen and sets the package on the table beside him before looking over to Jensen. “So, he looks better,” he says, and then inwardly kicks himself for how stupid he sounds. This is Jensen, for fuck's sake. If there's anyone on the planet he can talk to about any damn thing in his head, it's Jensen.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, eyes drifting back to the sleeping boy. Without the tube in his throat, this whole situation feels a whole lot better. “Lung damage wasn't as bad as they thought. Nothin' collapsed or punctured, so the doctor says he should be fine. Make a full recovery.”

Jared just nods and tries to piece together what Jensen's telling him. But something doesn't make sense. “Where's Rick?” Jensen's eyes move from Brayden to the floor and Jared's back stiffens instinctively. “Jensen,” he says, voice firm and low. 

The way he looks, the fear in his eyes, shakes Jared a bit. Jensen knows what it looks like when Jared is posturing, so he knows that nothing about this quaking ball of raging fury Jared has been since last night is one hundred percent real. He knows his Jared inside and out but he doesn’t know this guy Jared is now. Jared has worked really fucking hard to make sure that Jensen never meets this animal he keeps caged deep inside his own guts.

He just wishes that damn animal wasn’t rattling the bars of that cage so hard now. 

“Hall,” Jensen says, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his Dickies. After he closes the door behind them, Jensen shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Jay, you gotta calm the fuck down, man,” he starts.

“Just tell me what the fuck is going on, Jensen.” He feels bad for snapping. None of this is Jensen's fault, but the anger is growing and cracking his skin and it's all he can do to keep it contained. Doctors aren't supposed to tell random guys who are not Brayden's immediate family anything about his condition. “Where the hell is Rick?”

“I don't know,” he answers honestly, quietly. “He took off right after I did this morning, and he hasn't been back since. They tried to call him, the nurses, but he's not answering his phone. Far as I know, he doesn't even know the Bray's awake.” Jared’s rage must show on his face because Jensen reaches out, touches Jared’s arm, and says, “Dude, just come back inside with me. Hang out for awhile or, I don't know, go to the gym and knock the bag around or something. Just, anything that doesn't involve doing something stupid.”

Jared turns his head away, unable to look at that expression in Jensen's eyes. “I'll be back,” he says as calmly as he can with his heart pounding in his throat.

“Jared,” the tone is warning, but they both know it's not going to do a damn bit of good. “Jared! Can you please let this be about Brayden for once and stop making it about whatever fucked up issues you have?”

Jared spins on his heels so fast, he thinks he might fall over. “You don't know shit about my issues,” he accuses, and then stops short.

In fact, it's like everything stops. The nurses and the other patients in the hallway. The sounds and smells around him. Time itself.

Jared knows he has fucking issues. He knows he’s fucked up in a lot of ways. He just doesn’t think about them very often or, ya know, ever. What’s the point? Dwelling on the past doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help the life that he has now. There’s nothing to complain about anymore. He’s gotten over everything else.

Except that he's been on edge for reasons even he can't explain since yesterday. Since they got the call and came racing to the hospital. His body has been thrumming with violent energy that needs a release, and Jared hasn't even bothered to stop and wonder why. Anger is easier. It's always been easier.

He doesn't even see Jensen cross the distance between them until he feels a warm hand on his wrist. “Come on, Stretch,” is all he says and Jared follows, legs feeling heavy and numb.

A part of him really wants to tell Jensen to fuck off, to head over to Rick's and beat his door down until the fucker shows his face, pays for his sins. Another part of him is just so goddamn tired of fighting, of holding back and shutting down and falling on instinct. The part of him that loves Jensen, and Brayden, and the life that he knows he's giving up if he walks away is too strong to kick against anymore.

It's not until they're seated, side-by-side, on the floor beside Brayden’s bed that Jared opens his mouth. Even then, he's not sure what's going to come out. He’s not planning this shit.

“When I was seven,” his tongue feels thick and Jared swallows around it. He's never told anyone about this, hasn't even thought about it in years. “When I was seven, the family that I was staying with was, they were jacked,” he shakes his head and he can't look at Jensen, so he just stares at the leg of Brayden's bed, fixated. “They had, like, five of their own kids, ya know, and they loved to make sure I knew the only reason they were keepin' me was because they needed the check.”

Jensen shifts uncomfortably at his side. Jared knows him well enough to know that this is going to be harder for Jensen than it is for him, that his heart bleeds for injustice and cruelty even when he won’t admit it. He may want to know Jared better, but he doesn’t revel in this kind of thing even a little.

“It's weird, man,” Jared huffs a little and shakes his head again. “I mean, I remember gettin' the shit kicked outta me. I remember that it hurt at the time, but I don't really remember what it felt like now, ya know? I just remember they used to make me sleep on a blanket on the laundry room floor if I cried, and that I used to pray every night that somebody would just come save me. I wanted somebody to figure out what was going on and come, I don't know, rescue me or somethin', I guess.” He shakes his head. “Wasn't just me, either. I could hear them do it to their own kids, too. The one girl, I think she was, like, nine or ten, would scream for someone to come help her. She was so fuckin' loud. 

He looks up from the floor, eyes not actually focusing on anything, brain conjuring up images he’s repressed for twenty years now. 

“We had this teacher who called CPS this one time, but when they showed up at the house, everybody was on their best behavior or whatever. I had these bruises, but I was too fucking scared to tell the lady where they came from. Thought they were gonna kill me or somethin'.” 

Fuckin’ hell, he hates that kid, that family, that entire time in his life. If he could erase anything from his past, any of the mistakes or bad decisions or circumstantial bullshit that happened to him outside of his own control, it would be those five months. The abuse was bad enough, but the way it jaded and disillusioned him makes him irate, even now.

“That's when I figured out I wasn't ever gonna be able to count on anybody, ya know? Like the rest of the world saw me as this completely disposable kid, and if I was gonna survive, I had to do it on my own. I was fucking seven and I just gave up on the world.”

Jensen shifts at Jared’s side, tucks his hand up under Jared’s arm and squeezes as if to say, _I’m right here_ , but he doesn’t open his mouth, thankfully. Jared’s not sure he could go on if he were interrupted right now.

“So, I don't know. I just, I shut down. I stopped believing anybody who told me that everything was gonna be alright or whatever. I stopped really get close to anybody. There were always kids I partied with or whatever, but nobody I really let in. There was sure as fuck nobody I trusted.” With a sardonic chuckle, he finally turns his head to look at Jensen, to find him staring right back. “And then you came bustin’ up in my life like a fucking freight train, this complete hurricane that destroyed everything. I probably could have shut you out, by then I was pretty fucking good at it, but I just,” he pauses and leans forward, his forhead connecting with Jensen’s, “I didn’t want to.”

“I'm pretty irresistible,” Jensen nods, corner of his lip quirking up into a sad smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Jared nods his agreement and sits back, head resting against the wall as he looks at the bed before them. “Fuck, Jen, he's so much better than I was back then,” he breathes, nodding toward Brayden. “I look at him, ya know, and it's like I can't let it happen to him. I think about who I was at his age, how angry I was and how closed off from everything, and Bray's not like that, ya know? He's good, and he's happy, and he's open. Even with the shit that's already happened to him, he's just so goddamn innocent.” He feels Jensen's fingers against his and turns to look him in the eye again. “I don't want him to lose that yet.”

“I get that,” Jensen says, palm pressing against the back of Jared's hand where it lays on his thigh. “But, Jay, we can't do anything. He's not ours,” Jensen reminds him. “As long as Rick's clean, there's nothin' we can do about that. It blows, man, but we,” Jensen stops and clears his throat around an unexpected round of emotion. “We have to accept the fact that all we can do is all we can do, ya know? We're not helping him like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like pretending that avoiding each other is going to let us forget how empty the house is without him.” 

Jensen didn’t actually have to say it for Jared to know it’s true. That’s what they’ve been doing for the last eight months, maybe for the last couple of years. The longer they pretend they’re not missing him, the harder it gets to be around the house. It’s easier to not be there, which means they spend less time together, and then they splinter, crack, and fight about stupid bullshit that doesn’t matter or even exist half the time.

Maybe it's the rare moment happening between them, but Jared asks the question he’s been kicking against for the better part of this week, “If I'm right about this, Jen, if Rick’s not still clean, would you wanna-,“ he doesn't finish the statement, but he doesn’t have to.

“In a heartbeat,” Jensen answers without hesitation. They don't have to lay out the pros and cons and have an hour long discussion about why it is or isn't a good idea. They know each other. At the core, that much hasn't changed at all. “But we gotta let it happen naturally, Jay. We can't go trumpin' up charges that aren't there. You know how much that kid loves his dad, man.”

Two years ago, Brayden found out that his dad was cleaning up his act and coming back for him after two months of radio silence. Brayden was ecstatic. He couldn't wait to go home and be the family that they used to be. It broke both of their hearts more than either of them were willing to admit, but they couldn't deny that the kid was happy. That was the most important thing, the only thing that mattered.

Brayden doesn't see Rick like other people see him, and he probably never will. There's some inherent trust, a belief, in their parents that most kids don't lose until much later in life. Jared lost his too soon. He knows that Jensen's still hasn't faded completely. Brayden will see the good in his father when there's only a fraction of it left to be found. 

“I’m not gonna ask him to choose,” Jared fires back, but there's no anger there anymore. He's purged himself of the rage that's been flowing through him like constant, kinetic energy for the last forty-eight hours or so. “I just know kids like him need to know that somebody's gonna hear them, and believe them, when they ask for help, and moreso when they don’t.”

Conversation drifts from Brayden to Jared's new season of his show to Grind as the guys do what they haven't done in months. They talk. It’s nothing earth-shattering or tear-inducing. It’s just a dialogue about what's going on in their lives, and what they're interested in at the moment. Pop culture and mutual friends, and insignificant bull shit that wouldn't matter to anyone else in the world. It only matters to them for that reason.

A small voice interrupts them almost an hour later. “Guys?”

Both men look up to the bed, where Brayden's head is turned, blue eyes fixed on them. “We're right here, buddy,” Jared tells him.

“Whatcha need, Kiddo?” Jensen asks at the same time.

He smiles for a second at their tandem response and then licks his lips, features clouding over. “Um, well, I don't want you to be mad at me,” he starts, and licks again

They both make their way to their feet, Jensen reaching for the ice chips on the side table. “You can tell us anything, Bray, you know that,” he says, one hand on Brayden’s forehead in a very parental kind of way.

“I lied,” is Brayden's confession, and both men wait to hear the rest. “My dad,” he stops, closes his eyes and clears his throat. “He's not clean.” It's obvious that the words are hurting him, both physically and emotionally. “He hasn’t been for awhile.”

Jared's shoulders tense, but Jensen sends him a look that relaxes him just a little. He's right. They have to be here for Brayden. This isn't about Jared’s issues anymore. Whatever they are, they've been around for a long damn time and they can wait a little longer. 

“Bray, buddy,” he says, pushing off the wall and moving around to the other side of the bed. “We're not mad, okay?” Brayden looks skeptical, but Jared smiles. This kid’s got the best 'bull shit' meter he's ever seen. “We’re not mad at you,” he amends and Brayden doesn't really smile, but he melts into the bed in relief.

Jensen grips the headboard of the bed with one hand, the other no longer resting on Brayden's forehead, but laying close on his pillow. “We get it, man. He's your dad, and you don't want him to get in trouble, right?” A small, barely-noticeable nod is his only response as Brayden's eyes drift closed, a small tear stuck in the corner of the right one. “But you told us now.” His words are measured, like he's trying to work everything out in his head as he speaks. “Why?”

“Because you know he needs help, right?” Jared fills in the blanks. When Brayden nods, it all makes perfect sense. 

Maybe he overheard their conversation, or maybe he's just been carrying the weight for so long by himself and now he realizes, with his arm in a cast and his leg in a sling, that his dad's problem goes beyond just a little recreational fun now and then. Whatever the reason, he's trusting them to make it better and Jared takes that pretty damn seriously.

A silence falls over them, none of them really knowing how to deal with anything like this. Jared knows how he'd like to handle it, but leaving Jensen and Brayden to go beat the shit out of Rick still isn't an option for now. 

“He's not just using,” Brayden says, cringing at the way Jensen growls. “Few weeks ago, he asked me to take some stuff to school, to see if my friends wanted it. Told me to ask the high school kids,” he explains, voice thin, but holding out. “I didn't,” he adds quickly when Jared's eyes practically bulge. “He didn't ask again. I just,” he stops, wide eyes sweeping over the monitors he's hooked to. “I want it to be over.”

 _Oh, it'll be over_ , Jared thinks, and then nips the thought in the bud. He could do it. He could end Rick, just like he promised last night. But he looks at Jensen, who's only looking at Brayden, and he swallows the thought back. “Look, you're still here for a little while, right? Stuck up in this bed for a little while longer,” he smiles when Brayden flips him off again. “When you get out, we'll figure somethin' out, okay?”

Brayden reaches for the control at the side of the bed and elevates himself into a as much of a seated position as he can manage. The guys settle into chairs beside each other, Jared leaning his back on two legs while Jensen doodles something on a napkin and they all talk about maybe taking Brayden to the house in Tijuana over the summer. 

Jared's cell phone rings just as one of Brayden's nurses is leaving the room, and he categorically ignores the look she shoots him in favor of checking the screen. Rolling his eyes, he rests the phone on his thigh and lets it ring.

“You gonna get that?” Jensen asks, eyebrow raised.

Jared just shakes his head. “Nope.”

The ringing stops and then starts again. “Could be important, man,” Jensen points out.

“Dude, you notice how every time we answer the phone lately, shit gets blown all to hell?” 

Jensen is laughing as the phone starts to go off for the third time. He grabs the cell punches the button to answer it. “Jared's phone, this is Jensen, his personal assistant,” he winks and licks his lips lewdly in Jared's direction. 

“Roleplay, Jen?” Genevieve's voice laughs on the other end of the line. “Kinky. I like it.”

Rolling his eyes, Jensen can't help chuckling as he rests his elbow on the arm of Jared's chair. “Whatcha need, Gen?” he asks.

“Lemme talk to Jay.”

Accepting the phone while bringing all four legs of the chair to rest on the floor, Jared grins at the amused smile on Brayden's face before answering. “What do you want, woman?” he asks, the anvil that was pressing on his chest before gone, replaced by a liberated stillness that he hasn't felt in awhile.

“Hey, I know you’re busy, what with your slutty secretary there and all,” Genevieve teases, and Jared turns his head to see Jensen drag his tongue over his bottom lip again. Shit. “But Aldis called, and he was wondering if you could work him in some time tomorrow.”

Aldis is one of Jared's favorite clients. He works undercover for the LAPD Vice Squad, and they have a long-standing tradition. Aldis closes a case, Jared inks him in honor of it, then they go grab a beer and talk about the bike Aldis is rebuilding, much to his girlfriend's chagrin, or the MMA circuit that they're both crazy-addicted to these days. During football season, there's usually a heated Giants vs. Cowboys debate, and Jared often threatens to tattoo the Dallas star somewhere the New York native will never find it.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he nods. “But other than him, I'm not takin' any more appointments the rest of the week, alright?” From the corner of his eye, he can see Jensen's head turn. “Yeah, I'm gonna hang around here.” 

When Jared shuts his phone off and slips it back into his pocket, the look that passes between him and Jensen is unmistakable. 

Jensen's not really all that smooth when he stands and wipes his hands over the thighs of his pants and then announces, “Shit, I need coffee. Come on, Jay. Let's go find some coffee.”

Jared just laughs when Brayden says, “I'm not a kid anymore, ya know? You can just say you're gonna, ya know, do what you're gonna do,” he waves toward the door, pink flooding his cheeks. When the pair look at him skeptically, he rolls his eyes. “Jesus, fuckin' go be gross together. I'll be here when you get back. Not like I can go anywhere else.”

They step into the hallway and Jensen looks left and right. “I think there's a supply closet this way.”

“Oh, Jensen. You're so fucking romantic,” Jared teases, stumbling over Jensen's foot when Jensen pulls him into the darkness of said closet. 

Jensen's answer is, “Shut up and lose the pants, asshat.” What he gets instead is the feeling of Jared's hand on his hip, flicking the button of his Dickies, and plunging inside his pants. “Or, you could do that,” Jensen breathes, leaning forward to rest his head on Jared's shoulder as his fingers fumble with Jared's jeans.

There was a time when they couldn't stop doing this, when sneaking away to rub up against each other in a closet somewhere was more the rule than the exception. Now it feels like a taboo, something they shouldn't be doing – they've matured and everything, after all – and it's a thousand times hotter than it ever was before. It’s also a bit faster, but Jared’s not mentioning that. 

Disheveled, they stumble out of the closet a few minutes later, and Jared winks at the nurse who passes with a gaping, fish-out-of-water look. Jensen laughs and slides his hand into Jared’s back pocket, squeezing and then laughing harder when Jared jumps.

Outside of Brayden's door, Jensen rests a hand on Jared's arm. “I was thinkin' that maybe, tomorrow, you could talk to Aldis about-,“

Jared drops a quick kiss on Jensen's mouth and then pulls back with a smile. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, he says, “Already thinkin' it, man.” 

He watches as Jensen pushes past him and can't help thinking that it feels damn good to be on the same page again.

*

If Jared sits a little more gingerly than usual on the edge of his stool the next day, it's totally not because he and Jensen had more sex last night than they've had in the last year combined. If he's smiling like a gigantic moron, it's not because he's pretty sure that he's more in love than he's ever been. Maybe it’s a little bit because of that, though.

“My man Jay,” a deep voice sounds right along with the bell over the door at Slinging Ink and Jared looks up from his magazine to see Aldis cross to Genevieve's desk. 

He stands and goes to offer a hand while she slides the paperwork across the granite surface. “What's up, man?” he asks easily, leaning against the desk while Aldis signs his release form. 

“Nothin' new,” he answers, eyes concentrated on the paper in front of him. “Took down a pretty extensive prostitution ring last night, so I thought it was high time I come visit my man and make it official.”

Jared nods and takes the information that Aldis gives him, before sketching something on the paper that Genevieve hands him. It's not a complicated job – just a little something extra to the piece that started across his back almost six years ago now. Jared could do it in his sleep, which is good, because he has more important matters to focus on today.

It's actually Aldis who breaches the subject, however unwittingly it might be, when Jared asks what he's working on now. Being as he's undercover most of the time, Aldis can't really share a lot of specifics with Jared, but he does his best to vaguely fill him in. 

“Now that we go this one sewn up,” he refers to the case that brought him through the door, “gotta turn my attention to some dealers out in Inglewood.”

The name jars Jared, too fresh in his mind, and he has to sit back for a second to make his hand stop shaking. “Inglewood, huh? Had a friend got in an accident in Inglewood the other night,” he says when he can hold himself steady again.

“This friend didn't happen to have a kid with him, did he?”

“You know him?” Jared asks, every ounce of concentration on the piece in front of him.

“Couple years back, we were tryin' to pin some trafficking charges on him, you know? But he checked into rehab and cleaned his shit up 'fore they could get enough evidence to stick. Still ain't got much more than suspicion,” Aldis explains.

Jared forces the conversation into more neutral territory, if for no other reason than the desire not to dig his needle too deep into Aldis's skin, as his brain starts to drift again. He can wait – there'll be time for discussion later. 

*

When they’re finished at the shop, Aldis orders the first round at the bar and leans back in his jar, eyes beaming with curiosity. “So this friend of yours,” he starts.

Jared just shakes his head. “He's not my friend,” he corrects. They don't use names when they talk, can't really go into details, but they both know exactly what they're discussing. “His kid lived with me and Jensen back when he was in rehab.”

“Damn,” Aldis shakes his head and tips his bottle to his lips. “Sorry 'bout the accident, Jay. How's the kid doin'?”

“He's gonna be alright. Got some bruises and a couple broken bones, but he'll make it,” Jared says. “Thing is, he told me and Jen some shit about his dad yesterday.” 

Aldis is interested, if the way he sets his bottle on the table and leans forward on his elbows is any indication. “Like what kind of shit are we talkin’ about here?”

“This on the record?” Jared asks him, though it doesn't really matter. When all he gets is a noncommittal shrug in response, he tips his beer and swallows. “He’s using again, and he’s tryin’ to get Bray to push at school,” he says.

“Which means he's dealin' again,” Aldis fills in the blank, and Jared just nods. “Tried to get his own damn kid to push his shit? At school?” He takes a drink and shakes his head. “That's sick, man. Fuckin' sick. Wait a minute, you said tried, right? Kid didn't go through with it?”

Jared's almost offended at the question, but he just shakes his head and doesn't say as much. Aldis doesn't know Brayden, so there's no way he'd know that he's too good a kid to even consider it. “I can't prove he was high when he wrecked that car, man, but I know he's dealing. Brayden wouldn't lie about that.” 

Jensen's right when he says that Brayden loves his dad too damn much to purposely get him in trouble for something he didn't do.

Aldis' eyes focus somewhere over Jared's shoulder, the wheels almost visibly turning there. “I can nail him, Jay,” he finally says, turning to look at the man beside him. “He’s slippery, ya know, but I think we can get him. Problem is, he’s been workin' this shit a long damn time, so he knows how not to get caught.” 

It's an idea he's been toying with all day, and Jared's not sure it'll work, but he thinks it's probably the best chance they've got. “I think I can help you with that.”

*

“You sure you're okay with this? Cause, ya know, you don't have to do it.”

Rolling her eyes, Katie grits her teeth and tightens her ponytail. “For fuck's sake, Soph, ask me one more time and watch me change my mind.”

It's a long shot, and pretty much everyone gathered around Jared and Jensen's living room knows it. 

They need someone fairly new, close enough to know that the guys are still at the hospital with Brayden, but not so much a part of their inner-circle that she’d rather punch Rick in the face than deal with him right now. They need someone who can keep her cool, draw him in, and then convince him to sell.

Plus, Katie kind of looks like Lindsay, if you squint and stand really far away, and Brayden's mentioned that his dad only watched one episode of Jared's show, but that he couldn't stop talkin' about that _bad-ass, smokin'-hot blond chick_. Maybe it'll be enough to lull him into a false sense of security. 

Everyone's here, standing around as Aldis and his team fill Katie in on exactly what she's supposed to say and the signals she's supposed to use if she suspects trouble. They give her a tiny digital recorder to stick in the pocket of her baggy jeans, and remind her again that she doesn't have to do anything that makes her feel uncomfortable.

“Oh,” she nods, eyes wide. “So I don't have to bend over the couch and let him fuck me first?” Turning, she points to Jared and says, “But I thought you said-,” stops and shakes her head. “Nevermind.” 

“Sarcasm is sexy,” Genevieve whispers from her place next to Jensen and he narrows his eyes in judgement. “What? It is,” she defends herself and then goes back to drooling over Katie.

“Alright, everybody's clear?” The team nods and Aldis motions for them to leave, stopping in front of Jared and Jensen. “I don't fuckin' care how bad you wanna follow, you keep your asses here and wait for my call. We clear?”

With a nod, they both fidget a little and wait for the police to leave their home. 

If Katie can't do it, if Rick catches on to the sting somehow, they're going to have to wait for him to slip up on his own. Aldis has said that it'll be awhile before that happens. But if it works, Brayden becomes a ward of the state again. Their personal lawyer, Jeff, is on alert, waiting for word to file the papers for legal guardianship. They could be one deal away from bringing this kid home for good.

If this works.

*

“Blow me.”

“No,” Chad pulls his thumbnail out of his mouth long enough to answer Jensen and then goes right back to nibbling again, his other hand running up and down Sophia's back.

Jensen rolls his eyes and turns to Jared, pressed up against his left side, tapping his foot against the floor. “I meant you,” he clarifies and Jared just turns and looks at him blankly. “Seriously. Come on, man. Upstairs. Now.” He starts to stand and Jared just pulls him back to the couch with a roll of his eyes. “C’mon, I’m too fuckin' tense.” 

“I'm not gonna blow you,” Jared says as though Jensen's a little touched in the head.

“You could let me blow you,” Jensen tries again.

“I'll blow you both if it'll make you stop talkin' about it,” Sandy offers from her place next to Chad and Sophia. 

Jared seems to consider it for a minute and then shakes his head and starts to speak before snapping his mouth shut and looking around the room. “Where's Tommy?” He does another head count. “And Mike?”

“Probably blowin' each other to take the edge off,” Danneel answers with a smug smirk. “C'mon, Jen-Jen. Come outside with me.”

“Are you gonna blow me?” he asks, making his way to his feet. She just arches an eyebrow and he grabs his cigarettes, the only thing he and Daneel ever blow together.

Standing poolside, Danneel holds her unlit cigarette to Jensen's lighter and takes a long drag before speaking. “Is it a good or bad sign that they've been gone for three hours?” she asks finally.

Jensen wishes he knew. When Jared told him the plan, to have Katie head over there and tell Rick that she heard from a friend that he could hook her up, he thought it was ridiculous. Surely Rick isn’t fucking dumb enough not to wonder why some chick who works for Jared is showing up at his door, looking to score. Still, he wants to believe that Katie will play him to believe that she’s not that close to the guys, that she thinks they’re just irrational idiots who want to take his kid away from him. He wants to believe this will work.

Jensen's not sure how good of an actress Katie is, but if she can pull this shit off, he'll make her a goddamn Oscar himself. 

“You think it's gonna work?” he asks, and Danneel just shrugs. “Thanks. You're really fuckin' helpful.”

“Well, I don't know, Jen. It's hard enough to wrap my head around the idea of you and Jared wanting to be parents. Throw in all this crime drama bull shit and it suddenly doesn't feel much like our lives, ya know? Whatever happened to mellowin' out by the pipe, drinkin' and listenin' to music and just, I don’t know, chillin' out a little?” 

He huffs out a laugh and takes another drag, watching the plume of smoke as it curls in the air and disintegrates. “We’re not aching to be parents, Dani. If this was anybody else, you know we wouldn't even consider it. But that kid,” he trails off and she mumbles something in agreement. 

“He's lucky to have you guys,” she says after a few minutes of silence. 

When her cigarette is finished, Danneel tosses it to the ground and stamps it with the heel of her sandal. She opens her mouth to speak, but Jared steps through the sliding glass door and she takes it as her cue to leave. Pressing a kiss to Jensen's cheek, she turns and pats Jared's arm before disappearing.

“Hey,” Jensen smiles when Jared bumps their shoulders together.

“'Sup?” Jared responds, and it's so ridiculous, and light-hearted, that it breaks the tension of the moment. “What the fuck are we doin', Jen?” 

It's funny because, up until this very moment, Jared has been all-systems-go on the entire Brayden situation. He hasn't hesitated even once to ask if this was a good idea or if they should reconsider. And now he wants to know what they're doing?

“Fuck if I know,” Jensen answers, handing his cigarette over. Jared inhales and hands it back, pivoting until he can rest both of his hands on Jensen's waist, pulling Jensen's back flush to his chest. Jared does this every time he starts to get really nervous about something. It doesn’t happen often, but Jensen's found himself in this position a couple of times in the last five years. 

Before either of them can say anything else, Jared’s phone rings. His left hand squeezes tighter into Jensen's hip as his answers. “Yeah? Kay.” Wordlessly, he disconnects the call and slips the phone back into his pocket.

“What?” Jensen asks when Jared just looks at him and shakes his head. “Jared Tristan,” he starts with the whole 'full name' routine, but Jared crushes his mouth against Jensen's and then pulls back with a laugh.

“Come on,” he says, releasing Jensen faster than he wrapped him up in the first place. 

Jensen follows Jared back into the kitchen and watches as Jared grabs his keys. “You gonna tell me where the fuck we're goin'?” he asks, though he really fucking hopes he already knows.

The smile that splits Jared's face in half is enough of an answer, though he says it anyway. “To tell Bray he's comin' home.”

*

It wasn’t easy, and it sure as hell isn’t something Jensen ever wants to go through again.

Getting legal custody of Brayden took more out of he and Jared than opening either of their businesses or anything else they’ve ever attempted. There were meetings with judges and house visits and interviews. Everyone on their staffs talked to these people from CPS and a couple of times, they were absolutely certain it wasn’t going to happen. There was a time when they were pretty sure Brayden was going to pull the plug himself.

What they didn't count on, in their haste to save him, was Brayden’s reaction to everything that went down. Once again, he woke up one morning with a dad and, by dinner, the guy was gone. Granted, he hadn't been to visit Brayden in the hospital at all, but the kid still had hope that his father would show up. All of the sudden, Rick _couldn’t_ show up and it was Jared and Jensen’s fault.

Aldis explained a little bit about what had gone down – just enough for Brayden to understand that, once he was released from the hospital, he was going back to the guys' house until everything got all straightened out. By the time he was released, just a few days later, Brayden was convinced that his father was going to hate him for tattling.

Even after he came to terms with the fact that Rick’s choices are his own, that Brayden isn’t the one who did the wrong thing, he had trouble adjusting to life with the guys. Last time he lived with them, they all knew it was temporary. Once things were permanent, none of them really knew how to handle it. For charging full steam ahead into saving Brayden, Jared and Jensen knew nothing about being actual parents.

The first few months were a total mindfuck.

Eventually, though, things settled down. Social services deemed them suitable foster parents and, after the police found a meth lab in Rick’s basement and he plea-bargained down to fifteen years on multiple counts, Jared was named Brayden’s legal guardian. Since Brayden was fourteen at the time, Jensen is still convinced that it was his petition to the court that sealed the deal.

Sometimes it still freaks Jensen out. Sometimes he looks at the kid and thinks, “ _Fuck, it's my responsibility to make sure nothing happens to him, that he turns out relatively normal._ ” And then Brayden flips him off or calls him a freak, and he thinks it's not so bad after all.

Jared was convinced that his show wouldn’t get picked up for a third season after he refused to let the cameras anywhere near his personal and legal situation in season two. Miraculously, though not at all surprising to Jensen, the rest of his crew filled in the gaps. Genevieve and Katie’s _will they or won’t they_ flirtation, along with Steve and Chris’ first record deal, proved to be plenty of fodder to keep the ratings up. 

It took almost a year for everything to calm down and fall into a routine, but now that they have, it's pretty damn good.

It’s so good, in fact, that Jensen decided to throw one of those parties where they all mellow out at Ollie, drink a little, and listen to some great music. It’s one of Danneel’s favorites, one of those ‘chill’ parties she’s so fond of, and everyone is here. Most of Brayden’s friends showed up, too. It’s really nice.

Jensen is taking a bit of a break, leaning against the cash register, and pontificating on how lucky they really are.

“You got anymore ice in here?” Chad asks, throwing the door to the empty and darkened store open just enough to stick his head inside.

“Just what's in the cooler, man.”

“Then we're all out. Think we got more down at the shop.” He makes to leave and then turns back. “You seen Jay lately?”

Jensen just shakes his head. “Check with Bray. They were talkin' 'bout inkin' up some of his friends earlier.” 

Apparently, Brayden's friends can't hang out anymore if Jared doesn't airbrush them all at some point. It's cute, though, how Jared never acts like he loves doing it, even when Jensen can tell he does.

When the door closes, Jensen leans both of his elbows on the counter and squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuckin' hell, Jay,” he grits when Jared pulls off his spent cock with an obscene pop. 

Wiping his mouth, Jared makes his way to his feet and smirks. “I ever tell you how hot it is when you do that?” Jared growls as he leans forward to capture Jensen's ear between his teeth.

“Yeah?” Jensen asks, kissing him again quickly. “Figure we got a few more minutes until anybody figures out we're both MIA.” He lets his gaze drift past Jared's shoulder and then back, with a wicked gleam in his lined eyes. “Cleared my desk off yesterday afternoon and everything.”

Jared groans and starts to turn, but a whooping scream from outside draws both of their attention. “Who's that?” he asks as they watch Chris jump up from his place beside Steve to run toward the pier.

Jensen steps out from behind the counter and walks to the door for a better look. “Is it,” he stops and then pushes his way out into the blinding afternoon sun. “Lindsay?” he asks when Christian leads the willowy blond in his direction.

She's not like any version of Lindsay Jensen's ever seen. She's beaming. She’s clean. Her clothes look new. He's not sure he's ever seen Lindsay Kane looking healthy. “Hey, Jen,” she smiles brightly and offers a little wave.

They've never been friends. In fact, Chris used to joke that his sister was an acquired taste, one that Jensen would always fire back that he was pretty sure he would never acquire. He’s somewhat surprised to find he’s glad to see her like this, if for no other reason than the look it puts on his best friend's face. 

“You look great,” he compliments, pulling her into a hug. When he lets go, he looks over his shoulder and motions for Jared to join them. “I don't know if you remember my boyfriend,” he introduces.

Lindsay nods. “Not much, but I don't think I could totally forget those arms,” she blushes a little bit and, for lack of a better word, swoons. It's not an unusual reaction around Jared. “Um, so, I hope it's okay I crashed your party,” she says, turning to look at Chris like she needs reassurance or something.

“Course,” Jensen nods. “So you're just visitin'? Are you back for good?”

Her ponytail bobs when she shakes her head. “Nah, I'm just visitin'. Got a pretty good gig back home now, so-,“ she trails off and bites her lip for a second. “Really, I just wanted to spend some time with my little brother and maybe get a chance to thank you guys.” The blush deepens in her cheeks as she looks to her feet and then back up. “Chris told me what's been goin' on around here, with Rick and everything. And, um, I just, I know Bray's in good hands. He deserves better than we ever gave him, ya know? Better than, well, he deserves to be in a good place.”

It's awkward, but if anyone in this circle is the master of putting people at ease, it's Jared. “You wanna say hi? He's around here somewhere.” With his hands in his pockets, he brushes his shoulder against Jensen's and takes off in search of the kid. 

Lindsay makes to follow and then turns back. “Your mom's in the store once a week, Jensen,” she says, referring to the grocery store Chris already told him she's working in now. “Asks about you all the time. You should give her a call.” And with that, she takes off after Jared to find Brayden. 

Jensen just laughs her off and shakes his head, ignoring Chris's knowing look. He hasn't talked to his parents in ten years, and today's not really the day he wants to start thinking about fixing that. His life just fell back into place, thank you very much. 

“Hey, Jen!” 

Saved from whatever was just about to come out of Chris’ mouth, Jensen's never been so happy to hear Mike's voice in his entire life. Turning, he eyes Mike at the top of the pipe and tilts his head. “The fuck are you doin', asshole?” he calls out when Mike holds out the boards in each of his hands.

“C'mon.” Mike nods his head toward a few of Brayden's friends standing at the opposite side of the pipe. “Let's show these fuckers what a McTwist is supposed to look like.”

With a casual nod, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and makes his way to the ramp. There is literally nothing he would rather be doing right now.


End file.
